The Girl Who Played with Ice
by Sarrasponda
Summary: This is a mix between Merlin, Frozen, and Coldplay's 'Paradise'. Since Freya's death, Merlin has been changed so drastically that in order to save his destiny - and with it, all of Albion - destiny itself has to change a few things. Freya returns after destiny twists another prophecy into existence and binds her with a new curse. Will she be enough to save him? And he her?
1. The Cursed One

**A/N: Hey everyone! :)**

**This is my first fanfic, sort of a mix between Merlin, Frozen, and Coldplay's 'Paradise'. Enjoy!**

**This chapter focuses on Freya and her whole weird reincarnation thing- but no worries, Merlin will come :D**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Merlin.**

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_"When she was just a girl,  
she expected the world.  
But it flew away from her reach,  
so she ran away in her sleep." - Coldplay's 'Paradise'_

The girl had been dreaming for a long time.

How long exactly, she couldn't say, and what she'd dreamt of, she didn't know. But when she opened her eyes, she could tell how strange it was to do so, for she had not opened her eyes for a long time now.

"_**Three years**."_

The girl shivered at the foreign whisper. _Three years._ Three years since what? What happened? She tried to think, tried to remember, but her mind felt foggy, and her concentration shattered against the haze of confusion. Panicky now, she realized she couldn't even remember her name.

"_**Freya**."_

That voice again! She slowly raised her head, looking for the speaker.

"Hello?" she called, and was immediately consumed in a coughing fit. Her throat felt ... old. Worn. She swallowed and tried to speak again. "Freya .."

The girl hadn't spoken a word in three years, but the sound of that name felt right to her. She was lying on her back, her arms pressing against something warm and soft. Sand. She was on a beach, and she was alone. Sunlight beat down on her, warm and friendly. Slowly, Freya sat up, taking her time as her body adjusted to movement. Finally, she was able to get to her feet, albeit a bit shaky.

Freya turned around and found herself facing a small lake. It was breathtakingly beautiful, and somehow ... familiar. She knew this lake, she _knew _she knew this lake, but her memory seemed blocked. Frustrated, Freya frantically glanced around for a clue. There were trees where the sand ended and a lovely forest began, but it was dense and she couldn't see how deep it was.

"Where am I?" She said aloud, just to hear her own voice. It sounded rusty, like the hinges of an old door. The trees rudely ignored her question.

Freya sighed and turned back to admire the lake once more. It really was beautiful. She liked places like this, with a lake, and mountains in the background ... or at least, she _thought _she liked it.

She really couldn't remember.

Freya knew she hadn't always been here, on the shore of this beautiful lake. She had been sleeping, that was it. For a long time. _I was dreaming, _she thought. Now what had she been dreaming about? It had been important, she knew her dream had been why she woke up. What was it?

Suddenly, her memory focused so sharply she gasped and almost lost her balance. She closed her eyes as a memory poured over her, searing her mind.

_A boy with raven black hair and skin like ivory, but the eyes of sapphire set on fire. He stands on a beach looking out at a lake framed by mountains. There are tears in his eyes but he stands firmly, a look of longing on his face mixed with resolve. "I'll see you in paradise," he says towards the lake towards _her_, before walking away. He doesn't look back._

Freya opened her eyes. She was kneeling before the lake, the same lake that boy had been standing by. She brought a hand to her face, wiping away the tears she hadn't known were there. That boy was so familiar, she felt her heart hammer merely at his appearance in her memory. He was important. Her revelation left her with more questions than answers.

"I know him," she said to the lake. She glared at its secretive crystal waters. "Who is he!"

_"**Your destiny**"._

That voice! It was in her head, she realized, but she couldn't stop herself from scanning the beach anyway. Still alone.

"Who are you?" she whispered, afraid now. This voice, it had to be magic. Her memory, blocked and frustrating as it was, allowed her a sudden coldness at the thought of magic, and hazy flashes of memories, cut into pieces and mixed together. Magic meant curses, magic meant rejection, magic meant that boy.

Wait.

She felt it in her heart, her soul, her deepest intuition that this boy was everything good in the world. But her murky memory provided her with the knowledge that magic was curses, magic was beasts at night; how could this boy have anything to do with magic?

The voice in her head seemed to be laughing. Freya shuddered. It was an ageless, genderless voice, hardly human. "**_He is your destiny. By death you have broken him, now restore him, that he may restore magic to Camelot."_**

Freya thought that the voice was being unfairly vague and philosophical. The words it spoke were loaded, and with each one came a blast of familiarity. _Camelot. _She felt like she should know what these words meant, but she struggled with one part.

"What do you mean 'my death'?" Freya breathed in deeply, loving the feeling. But something seemed wrong, something was missing. It was something in her heart, below the breaths, it felt ... different.

_"**You were slain by the hand of the Once and Future King while in the form of a beast**."_

Now the voice was being rather blunt about such a heavy revelation. Freya struggled to make sense of all of this; everything had been so confusing since she'd woken up.

She looked down at her dress and was pleasantly surprised to see a rather elegant gown, fit for a princess. _Or a king's ward, _she thought with sudden clarity. She tried to recall more, but the memory was vague and fleeting. Still, these were human clothes, real clothes. "But I'm _alive."_

_ "**You once lived, you once died, and now you live again**."_

Freya was really starting to wish she'd stayed asleep.

"How could I have been dead?" she asked. She twisted her dark hair unconsciously in her confusion. "Why don't I remember dying? I was sleeping."

"_**The living never remember death**."_

"No..." Freya whispered. Her twisting had become urgent tugging, stretching her hair. The feeling in her heart that she'd felt earlier seemed to grow stronger and her insides felt harder where her heart should be. "But I was sleeping, I was dreaming."

"**_What did you dream about?"_**

Freya was silent before she answered the voice, not out loud, but with her thoughts. The voice probably already knew anyway; it seemed to know everything. _'I don't know... all I remember is that boy on the beach_.' Was that really a dream? It had seemed so real.

**"_The dream of the dead is life."_**

Now it was all Freya could do not to cry again. She felt helpless, and as her anxiety grew her chest tightened, her heart grew heavy. She couldn't be dead, but at that moment she really didn't know who she had ever been, let alone what she was. "Please," she whispered to the empty beach. "Tell me who I am."

"**_Only you can do that."_**

"No I can't," Freya said desperately. "Please, I need my memories, I want to remember."

Silence. There was nothing but the sound of the wind through the trees, a lonely sound. The voice was gone. Freya closed her eyes and lied back down on the sand. The sun was still shining, but it reached no deeper than her skin and shed no light on her inner turmoil. She was lost, alone, and that was all she knew except that a boy with black hair and blue eyes would be waiting for her in paradise. Where was that?

Finally, after what felt like hours but could have been minutes or days for all Freya knew, the voice returned with a simple petition.

"_**Do you want to remember**?"_

And Freya breathed, "Yes."

It is one thing to lose a possession, it is another to lose all of your memory, in essence yourself. You don't even know it's lost until it's found because you can't remember ever having it. Freya had lost everything that made her Freya, her entire past, when she died on the beach of Avalon three years earlier.

But now she remembered.

The memories came in flashes, out of order and fighting for attention. She felt like she was falling, passing through each memory quickly as she descended into the depths of her recollections. It felt wonderful and terrible at the same time, the revelations refreshing but sharp, swirling around in her brain and cutting her with their edges. It hurt to remember, and she remembered what hurt.

She had been young, when she was cursed. She hadn't meant to kill the man, but his sorceress mother cared little for intentions. Freya was punished to walk the nights as a beast, her fate to kill until the day she died.

Well, she'd died now.

But as a younger girl, she had been forced to flee her home, everyone she'd ever loved, everything she'd ever known, to protect them from herself. She was rejected by the towns she passed through; her curse was a plague, affecting not only her but everyone she came into contact with. Even the druids made it clear she was not welcome, for they would not endanger the lives of their own people with the beast Freya became at night. She was dangerous. She was cursed. She was alone.

The witch-hunter had found her and brought her to Camelot. She was going to die, but all she could feel was resignation. It was better this way, safer for everyone. Everyone but her, anyway, but she no longer mattered. No one cared about the beast girl. That is, no one until Merlin came.

This was where the memories became brighter, softer, her brain not cut by their edges anymore but blinded by their intensity. Merlin had freed her, trusted her with his secret magic, and promised to protect her. Even if Freya had lived forever, she doubted she would have found anyone as kind and caring as Merlin. However, although he'd told her his secret, she could never tell him hers so she tried to run. This was where the memories became sharp again.

Freya remembered Prince Arthur, being cornered by him, then stabbed. She had felt pain, so intense and she had been... dying. For the first time since her curse, she found death unfair, now that she had found a reason to live in a certain smiling black-haired boy.

And even knowing her curse, as he laid her down on the beach at Lake Avalon, he had loved her, and it broke her heart. There was such goodness in Merlin, and she didn't want to miss out on it for the rest of his life. And yet, she had found herself slipping away, away from the beach, away from the world, unable to fight the pull of the darkness.

Then she had died, and dreamed of Merlin.

Freya finally opened her eyes. She was still lying on the sand, on the same beach where three years ago she had died in Merlin's arms. Her dreams had been filled with the same beach, the same boy, but different words. Merlin had never said 'I'll see you in paradise'.

_The dream of the dead is life, _The voice had said.

...Unless Merlin had said that after she'd died. Freya shuddered and stood up. The whole dying business was still confusing, but she couldn't help the happiness and excitement that filled her body as for the first time she fully appreciated being alive... again.

_Somewhere on this earth, _Freya thought, _Merlin is walking the same planet I am. _That thought was enough to split Freya's cracked and sore lips into the first smile of her second life.

"_**Do you remember?"**_

The voice was back. Freya's joy was so overpowering that she felt glad just to hear it. "I remember!" She shouted at the lake. The sun, which had begun to edge closer to the mountain peaks, seemed to understand her joy and beamed down on her. Everything was perfect.

But something was wrong.

Freya's blind happiness was swallowed suddenly by uncertainty. She didn't know, but she could feel it, that certain wrongness. It was the way she had felt as a beast those many years ago, cursed and unnatural. There was nothing wrong with the lake, with the beach, or even with the voice that she had originally been suspicious of. No, she knew this feeling. The wrongness was in her.

Freya shivered. The sun did not seem nearly as warm as it had earlier. Where it had before heated her skin she now felt the same strong feeling that had been tightening her chest. It was spreading. This felt like when she had been cursed to be a beast, but that had only been at night, and the sun was still shining at the moment. No this was different; as a beast, she had felt wild and savage, but this was not the same. This curse flowed through her, wrong and right at the same time.

_**"Death is not escaped without a price**."_

The voice seemed to sense her unease, it seemed to know what was wrong. "**_The beast in you is gone, slain by the Once and Future King. You are here to help Emrys, the one you call Merlin. You are the one destined to save him; he has been broken by your death, Cursed One. You must make him whole."_**

The Once and Future King had killed her? It took half a second for Freya to understand; she had been killed by Prince Arthur, and now she had to help him by helping Merlin. Merlin was broken? Freya's heart ached for the sweetest boy she'd ever known. Merlin didn't deserve to be hurt, and he was hurting over _her. _Freya couldn't help feeling guilty at causing him pain, but a part of her was secretly thrilled that he cared so deeply even after her death. Maybe this was their second chance at a happily ever after.

But something was still missing. People didn't just come back from the dead. Freya knew it, and she _knew_ the voice knew it. The feeling that had been spreading through her body had gotten stronger.

The sun was no comfort to Freya any longer. It's warmth felt distant. Something wasn't right.

"_**A curse for a curse."** _The voice offered. Freya scowled.

"Please," Freya whispered into the wind. "Just tell me what's wrong with me."

_"**Playing with destiny always has a cost**. **Gone is the beast; welcome the frost.**"_ Any quality that made the voice human was now lost as it recited its cryptic answer. The voice seemed distant now, and Freya suddenly felt very aware of how strange it was, this voice. She may also have felt a little embarrassed for not questioning it sooner.

"Who are you?" She demanded. Her habitual distrust from her previous life placed all other worries on hold. She had been hurt before, and she would not let this strange voice hurt her again.

Still with an inhuman tone, the voice made a laugh sound otherworldly. "**You could call me the voice of destiny, but you are the one who must live it. A great and terrible destiny indeed; you are the prophecy of the Cursed." **And just as Freya's curiosity peaked at this, the voice continued to recite.

**"_Cursed by magic, beast to behold,_**

**_killed by the King, the curse was sold._**

**_The bargain her life, the price not gold,_**

**_She walks again, a new curse to hold._**

**_She walks again, Queen of the cold."_**

A curse for a curse. As the words echoed in her head, Freya found herself fighting tears. To suffer, to die, only to be cursed again? What a price for her life.

**"**_**You've a frozen heart, Cursed One. You live as ice lives in your heart. Your only hope is to find the one to melt it. The one who failed to save you once, now given a second chance to make themselves whole**." _If it was possible for a telepathic voice to whisper, that is exactly the tone it was using.

The sun's warmth no longer felt distant, but nonexistent. Freya closed her eyes as tears fell free. She had known it was too good to be true. She knew this was not what being alive felt like. Being alive meant a warm heart beat, and that was one thing Freya's frozen heart didn't have. Ice ran through her veins.

Freya looked out at the lake resolutely. She had to find Merlin. She had to help him become whole again; she didn't understand this new curse that ran through her whole body, but Merlin had accepted her even when she was a beast. She had faith in his kind nature, and though she was somehow supposed to help him, maybe he would help her too, to understand this new curse.

She turned on her heel and walked towards the forest, not looking back at the lake. She knew where she was going (to find Merlin, of course), but she didn't know how to, or in what direction Camelot lay. Through memories still shrouded in fog, she remembered vaguely that Merlin had brought her from the woods when she was dying, and this seemed as good a direction as any.

As the sun dipped below the mountains, she never saw its dying reflection in the now solid ice of the lake. Or the frost that covered her footprints as she set out to find her true love to break the frozen curse.

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**A/N: Phew! One chapter done. Is the voice a bit TOO awfully convenient? Feel free to tell me what you think or make some suggestions. The next chapter is going to be about Merlin, and will hopefully provide a bit more background. Thanks for reading! :)**


	2. Deathdays

**A/N: Hey everyone! Thanks for reading so far :)**

**Sorry I just realized that I switched verb tenses between chapters. Hope that isn't too much of a bother.**

**This is also the same day as the last chapter, just earlier. Hopefully it explains why Merlin needs Freya. Sorry it's so short!**

**Disclaimer: Don't own Merlin.**

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_**Merlin**_

_**Earlier that day: **_

Merlin was having a bad day.

The sun had risen, early and bright, into a cloudless blue sky. Gaius had let him sleep in, and had even given him some rare blueberries to flavour what would ordinarily be very bland porridge. And to top off the start of his day, he was wearing a blue scarf. Blue. Unforgivable.

It wasn't really blue's fault, except that it wasn't red. _After all_, Merlin thought as he stared at his porridge, _A blueberry can't help it if it's blue, not red. _He tried hard not to persecute them for this unintentional sin, he really did, but there was nothing that could stop him from flicking the offending berries down to the courtyard on his way to Arthur's room. All but three met their doom on the ground of the stone courtyard, and he slipped these into his pocket.

Despite his inward gloom, there was no one, not a soul in all of Camelot (himself exempt, of course), that could tell this internally melancholy Merlin from his usual self. If there was one thing Merlin was good at, it was keeping secrets. No one would be witness to a disheartened Merlin today, for his feelings were locked as tightly as his magic, close to his chest and out of sight. Always hidden behind the carefully cheerful upward quirk of his lips.

If the people who have suffered the most smile the brightest, no one has called him out on it yet.

It's sausages for Arthur this morning, (three to be exact, because Merlin ate one), with three pieces of cheese and an apple to add some colour. Green, of course. Not red. Merlin carefully sets the tray down on Arthur's table before gleefully wrenching the drapes open to assault the king with the morning's sunlight.

"Rise and shine! You've got a kingdom to run," Merlin sings, because talking is for normal people, or gloomy people, and Merlin is definitely not gloomy. Not on the outside. Not to Arthur.

"I did that yesterday," the king groans from his pillow. He's made a nest out of his blankets, a fortress really, to keep the day away.

"And it's my surprised delight to say that your kingdom has survived your reign and is still here." Now Merlin is persistently untwisting the blankets, solving the fluffy puzzle they've made and generally encouraging Arthur to get up. Which he does, albeit with some more moaning and overall displeasure.

The king stretches, arching his back as he yawns. "_Mer_lin, I don't suppose you've got my breakfast yet?"

Merlin waves an absent hand towards the table, and Arthur walks over to inspect the tray. "Hmm seems you're surprisingly useful today and _on time_." There is a note of astonishment in Arthur's voice that Merlin decides to ignore. There's a pause, and then,

"Are you sure I only get three sausages?"

The folding of the blankets momentarily ceases as Merlin looks up. "Of course. The cook must have noticed your need to slim down a bit. I guess it's not hard to see though – hey!" The blankets are discarded as Merlin ducks an airborne goblet.

"No one around here needs to slim down, _Mer_lin. I expect four sausages tomorrow." Arthur settles down to eat his breakfast while Merlin tidies the room. After Arthur finishes his meal, he produces a horridly lengthy piece of parchment and begins reciting Merlin's chores for the day.

"... and if you have time after you polish all of my boots and muck out the stables – every stall, mind you, – my sword's been looking a little dull and you'll need to get it sharpened." Arthur finishes. "Any questions?"

Merlin, who had zoned out around 'wash the door knobs', blinks rather owlishly. "No of course not. Oh wait! That's right ... how am I supposed to finish this all _today_?"

Arthur rolls his eyes, scoffing. "Well, you can't do it tomorrow, we're going hunting."

"And I can't do it today either, I have the afternoon off, remember?" Merlin snaps, momentarily displeased, but he quickly covers it with a teasing eyebrow move he learned from Gaius.

Arthur frowns. "Oh. You were serious about that?" He looks deep in thought, as though trying to comprehend whatever Merlin would do if he wasn't serving him. He seems to draw a blank.

Merlin rolls his eyes. "Yes I was, so you'll have to take care of yourself for a good couple of hours, do you think you'll manage?"

"Oh please, I manage an entire kingdom don't I?" Arthur's pride peeks out in his self satisfied smile, but Merlin doesn't mind. He is nothing if not loyal to his king, and he knows that for every bit of pride Arthur has, he deserves it.

_Well, most of it,_ Merlin decides, remembering many well aimed flying goblets in the past and bad headaches. He picks up the ravaged breakfast tray and heads towards the door.

"Oh!" Arthur cries suddenly, and Merlin halts. "The tavern!" he smiles in self satisfaction at his conclusion as to Merlin's future whereabouts that afternoon. "Well, if I'm going to grant you an afternoon, you'd better enjoy it."

Merlin swallows, his throat much drier than a few minutes earlier. "I – I will sire." If Arthur hears the strangely somber tone to Merlin's words, he doesn't show it.

Merlin flashes the king a quick smile before ducking out of the chambers with the tray clutched under white knuckles.

As Merlin goes about his morning chores, he congratulates himself on being pleasant and cheerful to Arthur. He is proud when he manages to smile at the blacksmith and even laughs with Gwen when she shows him the new litter of puppies for the royal hounds. He can do this for the morning.

But then it is lunch time and all too soon afternoon shows its sunny head, yet Merlin is the only one who knows that this bright mask covers a dark day. A dark anniversary. He takes his time strolling through the citadel, stopping periodically in the market to glance in stalls. Only the stalls that sell flowers, and only the flowers that are red catch his eye. He buys one rose before walking through the gates and into the forest.

Flowers are for anniversaries, after all.

It takes him a long time, because he is on foot. But he is travelling slowly on purpose, because there is something unpleasant about moving too fast. It's not because he wants to be careful with the rose, although that is definitely part of it, and it's not because he doesn't want to get lost. He knows this path, has memorized it. When you repeat a route often enough, it becomes unforgettable. No, today Merlin goes slowly because dread makes his feet heavy and his pulse race.

Today, as he reaches the beach drenched in sunlight, his heart is weighted.

Today, as the distant mountain peaks reflect in the lake of Avalon, Merlin allows himself an hour to be broken.

Today, while Merlin sets the rose down on the sand next to the three blueberries, he is the only one who breaks. He is the only one who remembers.

Today, three years ago, Freya died. And Merlin broke.

He doesn't show it to anyone, because his brokenness scares him. He has to fulfil his destiny and protect Arthur. He's supposed to move on and his broken heart is supposed to be healed by now. He should be able to concentrate on bringing about Albion. But here he stands three years later and he is still broken and his dreams at night are still filled with Freya. He's stuck.

And it scares him.

He whispers magic to the blueberries, to their wretched blueness, and with a golden glow in his eyes, he watches as they become strawberries. Red strawberries. So he forgives them.

Freya liked strawberries.

Three strawberries, three years, three anniversaries of Freya's death. Three years of standing on this beach and staring at the lake and promising himself that now he can move on. That now Freya rests in peace so Merlin's broken heart may rest too.

The first time he stood on the beach, on the anniversary, he told her he was sorry. He was sorry he hadn't protected her. That he hadn't been strong enough. That she'd died.

He was even sorry he lived, but he didn't say that.

The lake listened in silence as he cried and laid a strawberry in the sand and assured Freya that he missed her. That he loved her.

The second time, he told her he was alive. That he would continue living. That he would never forget her, but that he would also move on. He would heal. He left two strawberries in the sand and the lake watched as he walked purposefully away.

But here he is. Again. Merlin fools people with his smiles but he can't fool himself with his words. So he always comes back.

Now he stands at the edge of the lake, the water lapping gently against the sand at his feet. The lake is so peaceful, like it's not bothered that three years ago it witnessed an innocent girl die on its beach. Like it's forgotten.

Merlin knows it's silly to keep coming back. Freya isn't here. And yet, he feels closer to her, the place where she was last alive. Well, he knows she's gone. But he has one last promise to make.

"I'll see you in paradise, Freya," He says, the words breaking the stillness for only a moment before they are once again swallowed in silence. Silent as death.

Merlin bends down to gently pick up the rose and strawberries and toss them into the lake. The strawberries sink quickly but the rose rests on the surface tension of the water, lingering where it can still reach sunlight. With a word and golden eyes, he lights it afire and watches as it burns itself to nothing.

"Happy deathday, Freya," he whispers. If the lake hears him, it doesn't answer.

So he walks away.

Little does he know, he's been heard. Not by the lake. And where he stood moments before, Freya would soon stand again. And where Freya stands again, there shall be frost.


	3. Hunting Snowflakes

**A/N: Thanks for the reviews from those 2 special people I will love you forever! :)**

**By the way, I forgot to mention when this story takes place! Shoot me now. Arthur is king, Morgana is evil, and Lancelot is very much alive (and so is Freya, but that's out of the ordinary). **

**Disclaimer: I don't own Merlin.**

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_White lips, Pale face  
Breathing in snowflakes  
Burnt lungs, sour taste.  
Light's gone, day's end. - Ed Sheeran's 'A team'_

**Freya:**

She's lost.

It's been hours now since she left the beach and Lake Avalon. The sun has long since sunk beneath the mountains, back to its lair to wait for the night to pass. At first the forest was a maze of trees and branches and hidden ravines. Now, with the light gone, it has become a nightmare. If the moon is shedding its ethereal glow tonight, Freya wouldn't know because the dense trees block out the sky, shrouding the forest in thick darkness. The black is thick and heavy and Freya wants out, but she doesn't even know what direction she's facing anymore. She's lost.

And she's alone.

It took her a few hours to realize that the voice of destiny, as it had called itself, was gone. Not just silent, but its presence is gone from her mind as well. It's not as though the voice would be at all helpful, with its obscure messages and lack of body, but it is the principle of loneliness to miss an extra voice when all is silent. Which is another aspect of the nighttime forest that bothers Freya; the woods are unnaturally soundless. There are no nocturnal creatures about. Or if there are, they are absolutely silent as they creep through the darkness...

Freya quickly beats away that unpleasant thought before her rising panic consumes her. She is lost, she is alone, and she misses Merlin more than ever. After all, she hasn't seen him for three years! (She also hasn't eaten for three years, but that's another unpleasant thought she struggles to ignore as her stomach fights for attention). Merlin is much more important, and three years is a long time. Sure, she had been dead, but even then time passed and people change. He loved her despite her old curse, when she turned into a hideous beast. Would he still accept her now that her curse runs through her veins? What if he doesn't love her anymore? Or worse, what if he loves someone _else_?

_Enough. _Freya forces herself to keep her mind clear. She needs to concentrate if she's going to find Camelot, although navigation feels hopeless in this darkness. She takes shuffling steps forward, arms outstretched to prevent any unfortunate collisions with trees or branches. She stumbles often and her feet are cut and bruised from the protruding roots and jagged rocks that trip her up. She's getting nowhere and she knows it, but her legs stubbornly propel her on in jerky steps.

It's cold here, in the woods. The kind of cold that's carried in the air, that leaches the heat out of everything its icy fingers touch. The air gets sharper as it gets colder, painful to breathe in. Freya imagines slowly stiffening as she turns into an ice statue, and that thought spurs her heart into a race, the idea terrifying Freya. She doesn't want to think about death, about what she's been doing for the past three years, but the cold seems to follow her, and what's worse, it's growing colder as her terror mounts, almost as though it's responding. Like it reacts to her.

It is this thought that scares Freya most.

Her arms still searching in front of her, her fingers suddenly strike a hard surface. She rubs her searching hand across it and uneasiness turns her stomach churning. It's a curved surface, the obvious shape of a tree, but the feel of it is all wrong. Where the bark should be bumpy and rough it is smooth. Cold. It's covered in... ice.

No. It can't be. The sun had been shining only hours earlier and the sand at the beach had been _warm. _Panic once again rises in her throat and she can feel fear, cold fear in her heart.

Freya takes an automatic step back, away from the tree, away from the ice. But the ground, rough only moments before, is suddenly slippery and Freya trips over nothing, falling with a _thud _onto a frozen earth. _This cannot be happening_, she thinks, her arm aching where it struck the ice. She curls into a ball, trying to keep warm, but that doesn't help at all. She wasn't warm to begin with.

And as fear consumes Freya's heart, cold seems to devour the forest. There is no escaping it, so Freya waits, huddled on the ground, for frostbite and hypothermia to claim her, but she waits staring into the darkness for a long time. She isn't getting any colder, she's as cold as she can get. Ice runs through her veins. A frozen heart rests in her chest.

Freya slowly rises on shaky feet. She stands still on her patch of ice, listening to her own breathing and the strange stillness of the forest and most definitely _not _listening to her troubled thoughts. The ice, the cold... it's almost like she knows them. Like she is them.

Like they are one.

She takes one step and her foot slips out from underneath her and she is falling again, first to the ground, where her head slams against the ice, and then she is falling into a darkness deeper than the forest's night.

**Merlin:**

"Late again, _Mer_lin?"

There is something most unpleasant about an early morning hunting trip, a cheerful king, and a lack of breakfast. Dawn found Merlin preparing packs for the journey and straightening saddles and not eating breakfast. The sun a little higher now finds Merlin rushing to the gates with the forgotten sack of cooking supplies and a still very empty stomach. As he approaches, out of breath and really not that late at all, the king's words bring his head up in a very indignant manner. "I'm hardly late, and the sun's barely even up."

The king and his closest knights are already mounted on their steeds, waiting rather impatiently to leave. Like they _enjoy _hunting. Cut from the same shiny metal cloth. Merlin throws the extra sack onto his saddle and clambers up gracelessly after it.

"At the rate you travel, we can't afford to be anything but early," Arthur comments casually, before flicking the reigns and urging his horse out of the city gates. He leads the company, and the knights each follow dutifully, Merlin bringing up the rear.

Or at least, he _usually _brings up the rear. Today Gwaine falls behind, wincing with every jolting movement his steed makes as he rests his head in its mane. Merlin rides up beside him, close enough to hear him chanting, "Never again, never again, never again..."

"Something wrong, Gwaine?" Merlin asks with a smile. It's genuine and curious.

Gwaine groans, bracing his forehead with his palm as he turns his head to look Merlin straight in the eye. He says in a low tone, "Rough night at the tavern. My head is killing me."

Despite his quiet answer, Percival seems to have heard as he calls, "Your own fault! I warned you three times. That's what you get for drinking all night before a hunt."

Gwaine scowls at his back. "It's a lot more complicated than that."

"Oh, I'm _sure._"

"Hey, next time you should join me Merlin," Gwaine says brightly.

"Oh no," Arthur calls back. "He was in the tavern all afternoon yesterday. I'd be irresponsible to give him any more time off, it might go to his head."

Merlin rolls his eyes. "The only head size we have to worry about is yours, sire."

"I've been noticing the stocks to be rather empty lately, haven't you Merlin?"

"Sort of like your brain then."

"Ugh, they're doing it again," Complains Elyan, and all of the knights agree.

"Say, Merlin wasn't in the tavern yesterday, I'd know." Gwaine's voice is muffled from the mane it's buried into.

"What!" Arthur sounds much more surprised than Merlin thinks is necessary. "Where'd you go then?"

Merlin shrugs, even though he's at the back of the convoy and no one can see him. "Just some errands for Gaius."

"Oh, so you were useful. How unusual."

And this is how it goes for a long time, the morning quickly passing away. Merlin tries to ignore the feelings swirling inside, left over from yesterday. It doesn't help that Arthur decides to go the same route Merlin takes to Lake Avalon, and the woods are all too familiar, and his head is filled with thoughts of Freya. Freya is like a flower. Freya is like my sun. Freya is my heart.

These rogue thoughts ignore Merlin's panicky attempts at distraction. _Look at the trees_. Dark brown bark, nothing like Freya's wavy dark brown hair of course. Or her chocolate eyes. _No, something else, the sky. _It is deep blue today, like yesterday, only now grey clouds pepper it with different shades. The sun breaks through, illuminating everything with a soft, golden glow and making the day feel brighter. Sort of like Freya.

His thoughts seem very much against him today.

Thankfully he's interrupted by Arthur's voice. "Everyone, stop." Naturally, the whole party immediately halts. Arthur gets off his horse and walks a few paces to the right, looking around.

"What is it?" Leon asks, keeping his voice low, while the others hold their breath.

Arthur turns around, frowning. "Something's wrong. We've been riding for hours, and I haven't so much as heard a bird chirp."

It is true; now that Arthur points it out, the woods do seem unnaturally quiet. Eerily quiet. Everyone dismounts to join their king, now alert. "Could it be a trap?" Leon asks, instantly next to Arthur.

"Ambush?" Lancelot adds, peering carefully into the trees as though he might have missed fifty odd armed robbers.

"Bandits?" Gwaine groans, still holding his forehead painfully.

Arthur shakes his head, forehead still creased. "No, just look around, it's like the forest is... dead."

"Not the trees," Merlin points out helpfully. At Arthur's scathing look, he adds, "I'm going to be over there." He quickly walks away.

The silence bothers him. It seems to be catching, as the whole party now is unwilling to talk. Even their breaths are quiet, as though they are trying not to break the silent spell. They creep through the forest on foot, leaving their horses behind. There are no creatures in sight, no birds, no squirrels, not even an insect. As they move forward, Merlin starts to notice something else.

He can see his breath.

"Arthur!" he calls, and everyone turns to look at him, the silent spell shattered.

"What is it?" asks the king, moving towards him.

"I can see my breath," Merlin says, and the king gives him another look, clearly disbelieving the significance of this statement so Merlin adds pointedly, "It's summer."

Arthur frowns.

The air in the forest is cool, but still. There's no wind. Merlin shivers, pulling his brown jacket tighter around his body as he folds his arms, wishing for something warmer. The knights' metal armour suddenly seems like it's inviting cold, and Merlin doesn't envy them. It's strange though, this cold. It wasn't like this earlier in the morning, back in Camelot, or even in these woods yesterday. Where did it come from?

"Arthur!" Lancelot calls, and this time everyone comes. They gather around Lancelot, who stands before a tree, peering peculiarly at its bark. "Look," he says, awe in his voice.

Arthur moves forward to place his hand against the bark, a sharp intake of breath signalling the contact. Merlin leans in and is shocked to see that the bark is covered in frost.

Or a thin sheet of ice.

Merlin wanders over to another tree, laying his palm against its side. Smooth. Cold. "This one's covered too."

They begin to make their way slowly through the woods, stopping next to tree trunks and fallen branches, touching them finding them all frozen. If anything, as they keep walking the layer of ice is getting thicker. The air is getting colder. The forest is getting quieter.

And Merlin is getting worried.

Cold like this isn't natural, and all of his instincts scream sorcery. One sorceress in particular is pictured in his mind, with long hair black as night and a heart as hard and cold as the air now feels. Morgana is somewhere out there, out _here, _and Merlin is suddenly not eager to find what lies at the middle of this deep freeze.

But they continue on, because it's Arthur and Arthur isn't afraid of anything. They probably would have kept walking too, if Gwaine hadn't tripped over a frozen log and slipped on the patch of ice behind it. He sucks in a breath that causes everyone to turn. "Sweet mother of -"

"Would you look at that," Lancelot interrupts him in a low tone, staring out at the ice that covers the forest behind Gwaine. Where the ground should be is simply a sheet of ice from here on in.

"Oh, perfect," Gwaine says, getting to his feet and rubbing his elbow, annoyed, as he looks at the slippery terrain.

Arthur vaults the log and lands next to him, almost losing his balance as he slips on the ice. He takes a few sliding steps before he stops and turns around. "Well, what are you lot waiting for?"

They all follow their king onto the ice with varying degrees of reluctance. "This is almost definitely a trap," Elyan mutters darkly, as he slips yet again.

"What happened to hunting?" Leon wonders, his crossbow feeling useless now.

"We're hunting snowflakes now," says Elyan, rubbing his sore backside and looking murderously at the ice. He appears to be judging whether stabbing it repeatedly with his sword will be worth the satisfaction.

Merlin's teeth are chattering. They are moving even slower now, unable to take normal steps and reduced to shuffling along the ice. Gwaine is even on his knees, as having given up on staying upright he slides along on all fours. Merlin still pauses to check the trees, the thick layer of ice unnerving him more than ever as he sees it is inches thick. Definitely not natural. He warily scans the area, searching for signs of sorcery. Signs of Morgana. But the forest is absolutely still.

He looks carefully down, eyes on the ground as he mutters a spell so no one will see the golden flash. Instantly his body heats up, not warm but less cold. He smiles at the ground, and his reflection in the ice smiles back up at him with golden eyes. Maybe Morgana's magic is evil, but that doesn't make it all bad.

Arthur's voice demands his attention suddenly as the king gives a shout. "I've found something!"

Merlin hurries to Arthur, or at least, he hurries as fast as any one can be expected to move on ice. He stops when he rounds the tree behind which Arthur stands, the knights surrounding him. The king is leaning over a figure on the ground, the person curled into a ball on the ice.

"Or someone," says Gwaine, still on his knees and now peering curiously at the figure.

The person wears a dark dress, and Merlin's heart quickens. He would recognize the fabric anywhere, but more than that, he would recognize the figure.

"Lovely dress, do you think she's a noble?" Arthur asks, and for a moment Merlin fears that he will recognize the dress too. After all, it was once Morgana's, but Arthur seems to have forgotten.

"Do you think she's alive?" Lancelot adds, and Merlin notes how pale her skin is, paler than it used to be even. White lips on a pale face, but it is oh so familiar it aches.

She's a young girl, with dark wavy hair and pale skin. Her body looks as though it hasn't aged a day for three years, because it hasn't. He's memorized every part of her and she hasn't changed. She haunts his dreams and his mind, even when he doesn't want her to. She's his sun and his heart and she is lying unconscious on a patch of ice in the middle of the forest.

She's not supposed to be alive.

Merlin reaches forward to touch her skin, placing his hand on her arm. He immediately recoils back; her skin is cold, cold as death. It brings back dark memories from the day on the beach three years ago, when her life had failed her and Merlin had held her until all her warmth had faded. But now, he reaches out again to her wrist, checking her pulse. It's faint, but there.

Impossible.

"Cold as death," Leon remarks, because he has also touched her skin. "How long do you think she's been out here?"

Merlin wonders that too.

The king is talking and the knights are listening, but Merlin can hear nothing but the silence of death as he looks down at the girl he watched die. This can't be happening. And yet it is, and her skin is so cold, colder than when she was dead, but now she is alive.

His Freya, his sun, has come back to him, and despite her cold skin his heart warms.


	4. Return to Camelot

**A/N: Hi guys!**

**Sorry for taking so long to post, and such a short chapter too! I had a mass choir festival , and urgent shopping, and blah blah blah life getting in the way :P Thanks for the reviews they are SO appreciated! :)**

**Small confession: although I know my basic plan for this story and a general idea for where I want to go with it, I am mostly winging it here so bear with me!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Merlin. Or much at all really.**

**Merlin:**

_She's alive. She's alive. She's alive._

"Well, we can't just leave her here," Gwaine declares, daring anyone to disagree, but all he receives are consenting nods from the other knights, and Merlin certainly isn't going to argue.

_She's alive. She's alive. She's alive._

They have been standing around Freya for a while now, their shivering growing more accentuated with each passing moment.

"No kidding," says Arthur, with a roll of his eyes, and authority leaks into his voice. (If Arthur wasn't such a prat most of the time, Merlin might be fooled into believing he was noble to the core, but he knew better.) "It is upon a knight's honour to be of service to all who are in need of help."

"And damsels in distress," Elyan adds thoughtfully, staring at Freya. There are more nods from the knights, and a straightening of backs. They take their knight's code very seriously.

_She's alive. She's alive. She's alive._

"But you have to admit, sire," Elyan continues, flicking a glance at Arthur, " She looks a bit... unhealthy. Are you sure?..."

Merlin, who has been strictly ignoring the majority of the conversation up to this point, snaps his head around to face the dark knight. It is true of course; Freya's skin looks too pale and she is too cold to touch and she lies too still on the ice, ice that really should not be there in the middle of summer. But, she is alive, and although Merlin is having a hard time comprehending this, everything seems trivial when compared to that glorious fact.

Freya is _alive. _And Merlin almost smiles. Until he hears Elyan.

"What's that supposed to mean, Sir Elyan?" Merlin snaps. He knows Freya's unwell, he can _see _that. But he doesn't want to be reminded of it. "Obviously she isn't well, who knows how long she's been out here? She needs help!" Merlin says all this rather forcefully, and for a moment everyone is too stunned by his uncharacteristically strong outburst to reply. Their silence gives Merlin's guilt some time to catch up and he adds in a rush, "I'm sorry Elyan, for shouting, she just looks so... fragile." _Beautiful_. "Like she needs protection." _My protection,_ Merlin finishes silently, but he knows it's not true and his guilt grows stronger.

His protection had failed Freya before, brought her death even though he had promised she would be free. _You'll be safe Freya, _he had told her giddily, dizzy with the blindingly bright future he had planned for them. _You'll be safe._

What a lie.

This time, Merlin promises himself, promises Freya, he will not lose her. Not again. And even though an annoying part of his brain loudly reminds him that Freya would probably be better off without Merlin, he quickly buries the rogue voice with an attentive focus on the present.

"-fine," Elyan is saying. A quick check to see that Freya is still lying motionless on the ground before Merlin turns to the knights.

"Elyan is right though," says Leon, glancing quickly at Merlin with an apology in his eyes and then to his king, "The girl's state is questionable, sire, and we can't be certain she will even make the journey back."

Merlin grits his teeth and opens his mouth but Arthur beats him to it. "Thank you for your concern, Sir Leon, but my conscience will never rest knowing we hadn't tried." There is a collective murmur of agreement from the rest of the knights, and Merlin's tight chest is flooded with relief. Last time, the knights had been Freya's enemies. They had hunted both her human form and her bastet form, thought separately. This time though, Merlin knew about Freya's curse. It didn't bother him, not really, but knowing it existed would help him protect her. This time maybe the knights could help Freya. After all, Merlin inwardly smiles, who better to save a damsel in distress than a knight? Better yet, all of the knights of Camelot together?

It takes some arguing, some manoeuvring, some slipping, some cursing (mostly from Gwaine), and a small bit of actual lifting to move Freya back to their horses. Lancelot and Percival gently lift her up onto a horse, draping her small body sideways across its back. As Arthur swings up into the saddle behind Freya, Merlin fights a pang of jealousy. He wishes it is him.

Merlin watches Freya as they slowly make there way back to Camelot, as he is unable to look away. His attention is captured completely by Freya, and at the moment nothing in the world seems more important than her, not even the threat of Morgana or the coldness of the forest. Although the chill does seem to be getting more intense, even as they leave the icy ground behind. Almost like the cold is following them. Merlin hopes that Camelot is warm, as it had been that morning. Freya could definitely use some heat, and quite frankly, Merlin is getting tired of seeing his breath puff out in a misty cloud, hovering in his face for a few moments before dissipating.

The cold air puts a damp blanket over any spark of conversation and their ride is unusually silent. That is, save for Gwaine, who continues to softly curse and rub his elbow, muttering darkly about forests and ice and summer. Merlin is once again at the back of the group, and finds himself as Gwaine's main audience. He doesn't mind, not really, but it's difficult to concentrate on Gwaine when Freya is paces away and _alive_. Synchronously, it is difficult to concentrate on Freya thanks to Gwaine's constant monologue. It is giving Merlin the beginnings of a stupendous headache, and by the time they reach Camelot, Merlin is abnormally relieved to see its gates. He massages his temples as he gratefully watches the retreating back of Gwaine, who wanders off to the stables. And then, most likely, to the tavern.

"Merlin!"

He turns around in his saddle to face Arthur, who has already dismounted. The king is reaching up to lift Freya off his horse and Lancelot rushes over to lend a hand. "Take the horses to the stables," Arthur instructs Merlin. "And then come to Gaius' chambers, he may need your help."

Arthur and Lancelot carry Freya carefully up the castle steps while the other knights follow, wanting to wash up but too curious not to see what happens. This leaves Merlin alone with the horses. And the cold.

He sighs and leads the beasts one by one into the stables. He even starts to brush them down before his anxiety becomes too much and he finds a stable hand to finish the job for him. He has to know how Freya is, the worry is eating at him. He takes the stairs two at a time, huffing and puffing by the time he reaches the physician's chambers. He pushes the door open without knocking, almost shoving Elyan to the ground.

Everyone immediately looks up, and Merlin's gaze flickers around the room. Most of the knights take up the space, making the physician's quarters seem almost cramped when filled with their bulk. Arthur stands on the far side of the room next to Gaius, huddled around a small wooden bed. And on the bed under white sheets lies Freya, her skin as pale as the blanket, very still.

"Ah, Merlin," Arthur says, glancing at Gaius. It looks like they had been having a conversation before Merlin interrupted. Arthur turns around to his knights. "Thank you for your help and nobility, you are dismissed." The knights in turn bow their heads and file slowly past Merlin. Each glance at him and nod their acknowledgment. Lancelot, the last one out, shuts the door behind him with a soft _thud. _Merlin is alone in the room with Freya. Oh wait, Arthur and Gaius are still there too. But Merlin hardly notices anything but Freya.

"-anything else I can do, Gaius?" Arthur is asking. "She looked like death when we found her."

The physician shakes his head. "No, thank you for bringing her, sire. I am sure Merlin will be able to assist me from here."

The king inclines his head cordially before walking to the door, but he pauses on the threshold. "Oh and Merlin, you are excused from your regular duties to attend Gaius for as long as he needs you." He glances once more at Gaius and his tone softens as his eyes drop to Freya's still form. "Take care of her." He turns around and is gone.

Merlin moves to the bed, eager to be closer to Freya. He looks up at Gaius. "How is she?"

Gaius sighs, his eyes trained on his newest patient. "She is as cold as death and I will be perfectly honest with you, I don't know why she isn't. I don't know how she is alive. It's... unusual." He reaches for more blankets on a shelf before piling them onto Freya.

Merlin frowns. "Do you think maybe it's sorcery?" But Merlin knows Freya is no sorceress.

Gaius looks Merlin in the eye and lowers his voice. "I'm afraid so. There is nothing to directly implicate it, but I can find no other reason for her temperature."

"Morgana-?" Merlin begins, but Gaius interrupts him with a shake of his head.

"There's no need to jump to conclusions. And this is hardly like Morgana, what use would this girl be to her?" Gaius gestures to Freya. _She's everything to _me, Merlin thinks. He shudders to think what Morgana would do if she ever found out about Freya. About him. She could use her against him, but he sets that thought aside for now.

Merlin offers in defense of Freya's temperature, "It's been unusually cold today though, that might be it. No magic even." But even he doesn't believe his words and they sound empty. Meaningless.

Gaius gives him a look and says very seriously, "Not this kind of cold, Merlin." And looking at Freya, it's definitely not the weather that makes Merlin shiver.

"Will Freya be alright?" he whispers, reaching out to touch the girl's dark hair, the only feature not pale on her body. The only feature that looks alive.

Gaius frowns in confusion. "Freya?" he repeats. "Is that her name?" and Merlin freezes at his slip up. He forces himself to calm down. He had mentioned Freya to Gaius before, on the day she died, but never again since. It wasn't like they had been formally introduced. He probably won't remember. Probably not. Hopefully not.

Merlin swallows. "Um... I don't know. Maybe." Gaius is looking at him strangely and Merlin suddenly does not wish to be there anymore. "Anything else you need, Gaius?" he asks breathlessly and doesn't wait for an answer."I'll be in my room." And he leaves quickly, before the physician can get a word in, slamming his bedroom door behind him and collapsing on his bed, his mind reeling.

Meanwhile, Gaius is still frowning. He looks at the girl on the cot thoughtfully. For some reason that name, Freya, sounds very familiar, even if the girl is not.

Outside, the air continues to grow colder.

**Morgana:**

Miles away, another girl is lying on a bed, this one made of stone. Her skin is pale as ivory, her hair as black as night. But that is where her resemblance to Freya ends because while Freya's heart is of ice, this girl's heart is of stone.

Oh, she had been good once. She had been the girl everyone went to for a smile, the one with the prettiest dresses and brightest smiles. But years living under Uther's law had turned her sweet heart bitter with resentment and slowly the hatred set in like a poison. Uther is now dead, but her hatred is very much alive.

She has been sleeping, but now her eyelids flash open as she wakes with a scream. She sits up rigidly, hands clutching the sheets.

There is a knock on the door and an urgent voice calls, "Lady Morgana, are you alright?"

Morgana swallows. She glances wildly around at her small room, taking a minute to recall her location before she relaxes. "I'm fine! Leave me." she says, and she hears footsteps walking away.

She is in the tower of an old abandoned castle, near the border of Camelot. Her heart wrenches a little at the thought of the kingdom that should be _hers. _She is entitled to it; Arthur has taken it away from her. She must get it back.

She tries to calm her racing heart and pounding mind as she rests on the bed. She can see through her small, jagged window that it is daytime; she should still be asleep. What has awakened her? She tries to remember, realizing with dread that it is another dream. What had it been about? She closes her eyes and images replay in her mind. Camelot. Arthur and Merlin shouting. A snowstorm. And... a girl.

Morgana opens her eyes, feeling frustrated. Her dreams are always so cryptic! She wishes that for once her visions were clear, but they seem to work against her. She stands up with a sigh and stretches before walking slowly towards her window. She reaches a hand out to the clouded sky and frowns. The air. It's so cold, but it's still summer. She stares off into the distance, towards Camelot, where the chill seems to come from, and slowly a smile spreads across her lips. It isn't a nice smile, because Morgana no longer smiles nicely.

The cold is unnatural, and Morgana detects sorcery. She is determined to find this source.

She is still smiling as she watches the first snowflake fall.


	5. Icy Secrets

**A/N: Hey guys! Sorry for taking long again. And thanks so much for the lovely reviews! :) They are so appreciated I'd sing you a badly tuned song to express my gratefulness if I could sing. **

**Sorry if this chapter isn't what you hoped for, I'm not entirely happy with the end of it and I am the least romantic person I know. :P For the sake of this story, let's pretend true love DOES exist, so the whole 'they only knew each other for a few days before she died' thing is irrelevant to their deeply irrevocable feelings. **

**Disclaimer: I don't own Merlin.**

* * *

**Freya:**

Freya opens her eyes for the second time since her death to find herself in an unfamiliar room. Her head hurts, like she's hit it on something, and her body feels heavy. Looking down, she quickly discovers that it's not her body that is heavy but the mass of blankets piled on top of her. Thick, wool blankets, the kind people covet in winter. She tries to count them – six, seven, eight.

Freya frowns. Logically, she should be overheating right now, but she feels fine. Not hot, not cold. Slowly, she lifts her head in tiny increments, her eyes sweeping the room. It looks... different, from anything Freya is used to. For one, it is big. Granted, Freya knows that relative to some standards, it's rather small, but she had grown up in a small country village and this room is the size of many houses. It is even bigger than some. Another obvious feature of the room is its books. There are books _everywhere, _stacked in ordered rows on the bookshelves and then overflowing onto any spare surface, cluttering tables and chairs and making the room seem smaller. Any space not occupied by books is filled with odd sorts of plants or potions.

Freya has no idea where she is.

A voice startles her, coming from her left. Slowly, taking care not to enrage her headache, she turns to get a look at the person. There is someone sitting in a chair next to the foot of her bed, bent over and muttering. They have black hair, but that's all Freya can tell from their hunched position.

Their words are low, and Freya strains to hear them. They sound like desperate, murmuring sounds, from another language. She shivers from the shock of recognition as she remembers similar words spoken during her short stay with the druids. It is the old religion.

It is magic.

Freya doesn't realize she gasped until the figure looks up sharply, their eyes meeting her own, and suddenly Freya forgets about the strange room and the magic words and everything that has happened to her since she woke up on the beach. Nothing else matters but the blue eyes that have suddenly found hers, and she wonders why she didn't recognize the raven hair immediately.

"Merlin," she tries to say, but her dry throat forces the words out in a tortured croak.

"Freya," he breathes her name with reverence, and Freya's heart stutters. Her lips crack into a smile, literally, tearing her dry skin, but she hardly notices the pain.

Merlin notices, though, his eyes catching immediately on her cracked lips and he quickly grabs her a cup of water. Freya struggles to worm her arms out from under the pile of blankets but they are pinned beneath the weight. Merlin doesn't seem to mind, holding the cup to her lips while she drinks.

Freya tries again. "Merlin."

He smiles down at her, kneeling next to her head. "You came back." He almost whispers, his voice heavy with emotion.

Freya looks at him and can't help her widening smile, her facial muscles stretching. All these years and finally, finally she sees him again. It feels like she's dreaming."Of course I came back. I missed you."

Merlin cracks an endearing grin, and Freya can't help the tidal wave of ridiculously sappy thoughts that threaten to take over her self'-control. "You missed me? In paradise? And I thought people were supposed to be happy there!"

Freya laughs hoarsely, but it's genuine. "It was really more like sleeping. Three years of dreaming."

Merlin's eyes widen and his smile fades, "But you ... died," he whispers the last word.

Freya nods tightly, unable to bring herself to say it out loud. "I don't really understand... but I woke up on the beach just yesterday... or ..." Freya frowns. "I can't remember." Suddenly she looks around again, nervous as she remembers the strange room. "Where am I?"

Merlin idly plays with the edge of her top blanket. "You're in Camelot. Arthur and the knights found you in the woods yesterday while we were on a hunting trip. You were unconscious. Do you remember what happened?"  
Freya's mind seems to echo with Merlin's words. They bounce around too quickly for her to focus. _Camelot. Woods. Unconscious. _"I was trying to find Camelot. The voice said I needed to find Camelot... needed to find _you._" At this last bit Merlin's smile is back, brighter than before.

But still he asks, confused, "What voice?" and then, lower, "It is really you, isn't it?" He regards her carefully as though she might break or suddenly disappear on him if he blinks for too long. "You're really here, aren't you? You're really... you?"

And the hope in his voice feels as close to warmth as Freya has felt since she woke up. "Yes it's really me," she says, smiling, laughing even, "I don't know how, but it's me."

Merlin smiles back at her, taking her hand. At contact he looks down at her hand with a surprised expression, but then he looks up quickly, perplexed about another matter besides cold hands. "Oh, Freya... what about your curse?"

"My ... Oh!" Freya realizes Merlin must still think she turns into a bastet. "Destiny itself is changing," she breathes, " I was cursed to kill until the day I died, and well," here she laughs, short and forced, "I died, didn't I? So I'm no longer bound. I will never be a beast again, but-"

She can't finish her sentence because suddenly Merlin is wrapping her in a hug, or at least he tries to. There are eight thick blankets in the way but still it is a nice thought. And there are tears on her cheeks or maybe they are Merlin's tears but either way it is the happiest moment of either of Freya's lives.

"That's wonderful, Freya!" He exclaims as he sits back, eyes bright. "This time you won't have to leave! No one will recognize you or remember you. You can leave here, with me and Gaius!" His tone is happy, almost giddy, and Freya can't help but feel excited too.

Until Merlin shivers.

_The cold_, she realizes. Her curse is following her. It's summer and it's cold and it's _wrong_. She can't stay here. The cold can only get worse.

"Merlin," she begins, "That sounds, _amazing,_ really, I wouldn't have it any other way, but -"

"We were going to run away together, remember?" Merlin cuts in, his excitement not dimmed in the least. "Now we don't have to! Maybe you could get a job at the castle, I'm sure Gwen could help you -"

"That sounds great Merlin but-"

"I'm just so glad you're back!" And he's grinning so widely and so openly now, all of his joy directed at Freya. And she wants to stay, she really wants to. But her frozen curse is just as deadly as the beast, maybe even more so, and she won't kill again. She won't let herself.

"Merlin," She says,"I can't." He suddenly stops and looks at her, his eyes shocked.

"What? Why not? Freya, you'll be perfectly safe this time, I _promise,_" He looks completely determined, and maybe a little regretful. He's promised this before, after all.

It's not that Freya doesn't believe him. She knows he'd do anything for her, his heart too big to allow for anything but selflessness. But he doesn't _know, _and the last time she neglected to tell him about her curse she died. If she keeps this cold curse a secret too, she just _knows _it will be dangerous. The least she can do is let him know, and maybe he can help.

"Merlin, people don't just come back from the dead," she starts.

He frowns, "But you -"  
"I paid a price," Freya admits, and now she has his full attention.

"What... just tell me what." he asks, his voice almost emotionless, the previous hope disappearing.

"Destiny gave me a new curse," she takes a deep breath, "I can't stay in Camelot, because I-"

She is cut off as the door suddenly bursts open behind her with a loud bang. "Merlin!" a voice calls, and the boy turns to look. Freya cranes her neck but her vision goes no farther than the ceiling.

"Gaius," says Merlin without enthusiasm. He gives Freya a consternated look that clearly says 'tell me later', and Freya can't help feeling disappointed. She feels like the information is weighing heavily on her chest, and she wants it off _now. _

Gaius walks into view, coming to stand next to Merlin. He's old, with greying hair and a stooped disposition but his eyes are intelligent as he regards her intently. "And how are you feeling, my dear?" He asks.

"I'm fine," Freya answers, shrinking under her mass of blankets beneath his gaze.

"Gaius is the castle physician, Freya," Merlin states, as though he feels she needs an explanation. "He's been taking care of you since we found you in those woods."

"That is not entirely true, Merlin," the older man says with a slight twinkle to his eyes. He turns back to Freya. "I just did the diagnosis, it's Merlin who's been taking care of you." Freya looks at Merlin, who blushes slightly.

"Right, anyway," he says quickly, and Freya smiles at his embarrassment while Gaius does nothing to disguise a hearty chuckle.

Gaius' gaze turns serious. "Freya is it?" at her small nod he continues, "Are you feeling cold at all? Or hot? You were cold as death when they brought you in." His unfortunate choice of words causes both Freya and Merlin to shudder.

"I feel fine," she answers honestly. Merlin looks at her questioningly, no doubt remembering how cold her hand felt earlier, but she doesn't meet his eye.

Gaius nods briskly. "Well, that's good." He peers out the window. "It's hard to say with all these clouds – odd, aren't they? - but I'd say It's about time I delivered Lord Geoffrey's medicine." He heads over to a table a picks up a small potion bottle.

"Let me know if there are any changes to your condition," he calls, before walking towards the door and slamming it shut behind him.

There is a moment of silence before Merlin turns back to Freya, gaze intent. He takes her hand in his and stares at it determinedly. "You're cold," he states, frowning.

"No I'm not – well, yes I am. That's what I wanted to talk to you about -" Freya begins, but the door opens yet again behind her, cutting her off.

Merlin looks above her head, exasperated. "What _now?" _

"Ah, _Mer_lin," A rather pompous sounding voice declares. "Do you have a moment? I need you right now. This sudden cold is becoming a real problem."

_Sudden cold?_

"But-"

_"__Now."_

Freya can't see who it is, but Merlin is rolling his eyes. "One moment, _sire." _Merlin looks down at her and squeezes her hand briefly before letting it drop. "That's king Arthur." He whispers. "I'll be back soon. Tell me about your ..." he swallows, "your _curse_ when I get back."

No, she thinks frantically. She needs to tell Merlin now! This icy secret is dangerous, she knows it. She needs help. But the king is impatient.

"Now, Merlin!"

"For heaven's sake, I'm coming!" Merlin calls, and after shooting Freya one last apologetic look, he stomps off. Freya listens as the door slams shut behind him, and she is left alone. The room seems colder without Merlin.

She looks around. There is a small window close to the bed, but she can't quite see out of it. Slowly she pushes the blankets off her body. They are _really _heavy. She is almost grateful she can't seem to feel heat anymore, or she'd be boiling. Almost grateful.

Carefully, she gets to her unsteady feet and stumbles over to the window. Her breath catches as she peers outside.

It's _snowing. _

Her heart speeds up as time seems to slow and fear floods her veins. Cold fear. This is all her fault. The city is covered in a thin white blanket. She puts her hand up to the window and pulls away almost immediately with shock, as where she places her hand tendrils of frost spiral out over the window, clouding the glass with a sheet of ice.

_No, no, no. _She backs away, bumping into a table and sending the books and potions on top of it crashing to the ground. She thrusts her hand out towards the falling objects and a flash of frozen magic shoots out, shattering the potions and the books as they are turned to ice.

_No. Please no. _She stands frozen for a moment, before sinking to the ground to curl into a ball. It is happening again. She can sense the air growing colder even if she can't feel it. She closes her eyes, silently wishing the cold away, but she can't be blind forever.

When she opens her eyes, it is to see a new room, one that is varying shades of blue and white. Everything is covered in frost. She gets to her feet, more shakily than before. She stumbles across the room, trying to get to the door without slipping over the ice. There is only one thought in her mind.

She can't stay here. It isn't safe. She's dangerous.

She has to get out.

_Sorry Merlin._


	6. Empty Rooms and Breadrolls

**A/N: Hi guys! Thanks for the lovely reviews they are much appreciated :). **

**And yes I hated how Freya left too and originally in this one she was going to stay, but things have to get worse before they get better, right? ;)**

**This way the guy chases the girl... quite literally.**

**Disclaimer: Don't own Merlin.**

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_"Afraid to let your secrets out  
Everything that you hide  
Can come crashing through the door now  
But too scared to face all your fear  
So you hide, but you find  
That the shame won't disappear." Tenth Avenue North "Healing Begins"_

**Merlin:**

Merlin knew it was a bad idea to leave Freya the moment he walked out the door.

And yet here he is, following Arthur down some corridor that is awfully in need of a good cleaning(honestly, what kind of lazy servants does this castle keep? Besides Merlin of course, who is a saint). Merlin would like to say he's been everywhere in the castle, but he's never actually been down this corridor. From the layer of dust lining the floor, it doesn't look like anyone else has either. But Arthur is surefooted as he leads the way, holding his torch as a ward against the pressing darkness.

"Are you going to tell me where we're headed, _sire_?" Merlin asks, bitter about leaving Freya.

"Nope." Arthur doesn't even bother turning around. "I told you, it's about this sudden chill."

"Great thanks that clears everything up," Merlin mutters darkly, tugging his thin jacket tighter around his body, and they lapse into silence, listening to the thrum of their footsteps on the ground.

The corridor is beginning to feel more like a tunnel, and the tunnel is beginning to feel more like a tomb. A tomb that gets colder as you go farther in.

Merlin quickly tries to beat back the depressing thoughts that abruptly seem to fill his brain, and suddenly he's thinking about Freya. What had she needed to tell him? It was important, he could tell it by her expression, in her eyes, in her voice. It had been serious.

They are below ground level, somewhere, when suddenly Arthur stops and Merlin bumps into him, barely staying upright after a dangerous moment of arm-flailing.

Arthur speaks, still staring straight ahead. "We're here." His voice is hollow.

Merlin shivers against the cursed cold, before peaking around Arthur's back to stare into the darkness, but he doesn't see anything particularly noteworthy.

"Oh my favourite," Merlin offers. "_Darkness._"

Merlin can actually hear the eyeroll in Arthur's voice. "No you idiot, recognize this?" And he holds his torch up higher, and Merlin gasps suddenly. Because he does recognize this place. He's been here before, been down this tunnel before, years ago. Back when Uther was king and Nimueh had poisoned the water with an afanc. They are at Camelot's water storage.

And it's completely frozen.

"Oh," Merlin murmurs absently, staring at the ice, "That's not good. ..."

Arthur's mouth is set in a grim line. "I know you're not an expert on it _Me_rlin, but doesn't this have sorcery written all over it? It's the middle of summer!"

At the mention of sorcery Merlin stumbles and almost loses his footing on a rogue patch of ice. "S-sorcery sire?" he asks nervously.

Arthur hefts his torch higher, using it to gesture around at the ice covering the cavern walls. "I'm prepared to listen to a better explanation if you've got one."

Merlin frowns. He _knows_ it is some kind of magic, he can feel it. He had been trying to sense its origin with magic right before Freya had woken up and he hasn't gotten a chance to continue since. But it's different from his own, this cold, it's not so much a spell, but almost like a ... curse.

"No I think you're right, it may be sorcery," Merlin agrees, because there is no point in arguing it. It's obvious.

Arthur nods solemnly. "We take this to Gaius then," he says, turning back down the tunnel and forcing Merlin to follow or be left alone in the dark. Merlin takes one last look around at the layer of ice covering _everything_ and shivers. He follows Arthur out.

"I don't know where Gaius would be, sire," Merlin says as they hurry to the physician's chambers and, Merlin hopes, to Freya. "He wasn't in his rooms before."

"And that was how long ago Merlin?" Arthur doesn't even bother glancing his way.

Merlin frowns. "Whenever you rudely kidnapped me to look at some ice."

"Exactly," Arthur says as though Merlin has proved his point. "He could be back by now."

They've reached the door to the physician's chambers and to emphasize Arthur's point he throws the door open dramatically. Merlin rolls his eyes as they step in.

And then he slips on all the ice.

"What are you – oof!" Arthur begins but is cut off as Merlin knocks into him and together they tumble to the ground.

"Ow." Merlin's tailbone is killing him, but he doesn't waste brain space on the pain because his mind is consumed by thoughts of Freya. What happened? Where is she?

The room is, like the water storage, covered in a layer of ice. Merlin carefully gets to his feet before cautiously making his way through the frozen landscape. He looks down at the table as he passes – an apple is frosted white and stuck to the plate. He lets his fingers pass over a book – the icy covering is smooth, and its pages are sealed shut.

Slowly, with dread, he walks toward the cot in the corner. "Freya?" he calls softly. The cot is empty, the blankets frozen stiff. Even the window is opaque with the ice.

Merlin turns around as Arthur makes a noise. The king is looking at the ground, picking up a shard of ice – no, _glass_. It's a fragment from a broken potion bottle. "Someone's been here," says Arthur.

Merlin walks over to Arthur, who is still staring at the ground.

"Look," the king whispers, and Merlin does. There's something else broken on the ground, in fragmented triangles. Merlin bends over to pick it up. It's the remains of a book, but it's frozen solid. He tries to bend a broken piece, but it doesn't move. That's strange. "How did it shatter like that?" Merlin muses aloud. _And where's Freya? _

This cold suddenly seems much darker, more sinister than it had before.

Arthur's mouth is set in a thin line. "Find Gaius," he says, "And call the knights together. We need to talk about this."

Merlin nods and heads to the door, but the minute he's out he dashes down the corridor. He wants answers as much as Arthur, but he has a better idea where might find them. It's time he heard about a price for a life.

There's a girl he needs to find.

**Freya:**

Freya meant to leave immediately, but then she sees the food.

She had been walking quickly down a corridor that looked exactly like the one she had just left, when suddenly she passes by a doorway that leaked heavenly smells of nutrition. She stops here, at what appears to be the castle kitchens. Her stomach growls, reminding her of its presence and its emptiness. After all, she hasn't eaten for three years.

So Freya postpones her hurried leave, reasoning that a quick snack can't hurt. She creeps into the kitchen, back against the wall as she struggles to be invisible to the bustling kitchen crew. A woman in an apron wields a wooden spoon and a stern expression; she must be the head cook. Ducking her head, Freya spies a bread roll to her left, and slowly inches her way towards it. Almost there...

"Hey you!" She looks up quickly to meet the glare of the head cook, now approaching at an alarming rate.

Fearful, Freya grabs the bread roll and turns to run but there is another servant blocking the way. She raises her arms to stop their collision but suddenly she's stretching her hand out, that same white power reaching towards the servant in white tendrils, wrapping them in ice.

There's a gasp behind her, and Freya stares in shock at what she's done. No. It's happening again. She's hurting people. She steps around the frozen figure and darts out the door, then down the hallway, turning corners and flying down staircases until she is sure hasn't been followed. Her gait slows to a walk, her breathing ragged. She is hungry and weak, and her run has taken its toll.

Freya can't help but recall the frozen expression of shock on the kitchen servant's face, so literally _frozen. _It scares her. She scares her. That poor servant! She looks down at the loaf clutched in her hand.

All for a bread roll.

But she is still hungry, so she takes a bite out of her bread roll, chewing slowly to savour the flavour as she takes in her surroundings. Another corridor, much the same as any other. She is pretty sure she is on ground level, but no windows make it difficult to guess.

It is time now, she has to leave. She wants to cry, she really does; it seems as though unwittingly, her life is meant to run in cycles. A cycle of endangering others and leaving them behind. A cycle of loneliness. It's just not _fair._

_But there is no use dwelling on self pity_, Freya tells herself as she tries to find a gate to the outside. This is how things have to be. For the good of everyone else, those who would hate her if she stays. But she won't hate them, she will protect them. And Merlin. Always for Merlin.

Finally, she finds a doorway to the outside and she sighs in relief. Her feet carry her towards it and she is almost there when she hears a voice, at the other end of the hall call, "Freya!"

No.

She quickens her pace.

"Freya!" She can hear Merlin running now, his footfalls uneven, and now she is running too.

_Don't make this harder than it already is_, She silently begs him, but it's no use and now he's blocking her path.

"Freya, what do you think you're doing?" He asks her, his face set in a frown.

Freya tries to go around him. "Please, Merlin, I have to go-"

"Why?" Merlin holds her back, gazing into her eyes with concern. "What's wrong?"

Freya wraps her arms around her. "I – I have to leave Camelot."

Merlin's eyes widen. "Leave Camelot – _Why_? This is the safest place for you right now, and besides there's no use going anywhere in this weather." And with this last sentence he opens the door she had been headed towards, giving her a view of the outside. Camelot is covered in snow.

Of course.

Freya takes a step out of the door, her feet sinking in the snow. "Oh no, it's all my fault..."  
Merlin is right next to her, his hand still on her arm as though she might try to run. "What is it Freya?" He asks gently, more gently than she deserves. His eyes narrow. "Is this about the price you paid? For your life?" He gestures to the landscape. "It's not related to this cold, is it?"

_If only you knew,_ Freya thinks. But she wants him to know. Not like last time. And yet, the thought makes her nervous, scared. That's not good. When she's scared is when she loses control of her curse. She takes a deep breath. "Something like that. I don't know why, but it's like I'm constantly cold-"

"You're standing in the snow," Merlin points out helpfully.

Freya almost smiles, looking down at her feet that are indeed covered in the cold fluffy powder. "I don't even feel it," she confesses.

Merlin laughs. "Well, that's a good thing right? If that's your curse, it can come in handy in the winter. You won't even need extra blankets." There's a twinkle in his eyes, but his voice carries a revealing emotion, and Freya can hear the relief. He thinks the price she paid is low, as though destiny played fair.

Oh Merlin, you think too well of everyone and everything. The higher your expectations of life, the farther is your fall.

Freya is shaking her head. "No, you don't understand, it's not just me that's cold, it's everything else too, I can't help but freeze things -"

"You mean _you _froze my room?" Merlin asks, surprised.

Freya twists a piece of hair around her finger nervously. "I'm sorry it was an accident. See, I can't control it, I'm scared, I think I hurt -" _someone, _she means to say, thinking of the kitchen staff, but then -

"Merlin!" someone calls, stepping into the doorway. It's a knight, or at least they are what Freya assumes a knight should look like. Tall, dark, handsome, and covered in armour.

Freya sighs. They are always interrupted.

"Lancelot," Merlin smiles, though a bit distracted, and nods to the man, then makes introductions, "This is Freya."

Lancelot glances at her, and Freya notices the genuine warmth in the smile, even if it is obvious he is not in happy spirits. "Pleased to meet you," he says, before turning back to Merlin. "Merlin, there's something I need to discuss with you... alone." he glances at Freya.

Merlin frowns, and asks a little reluctantly, "Right now?" He, too, looks at Freya. Freya can read the worry in his eyes, his desire to speak with her.

Lancelot's nod is small and quick before he steps back into the doorway, obviously expecting Merlin to follow him.

Merlin sighs and meets Freya's gaze. "Stay here," he warns. "I'll be right back. And we'll sort this out together." He offers her a small grin, before reluctantly turning to follow Lancelot inside.

Freya immediately spins on her angle before running off down the narrow city street. She only has a short amount of time before Merlin will come looking for her., and it pains her heart to do this. Freya wants to believe that she will get better, that this time she won't hurt anyone, but she knows that the only way to be certain is to not allow herself the chance of getting close to anyone. She can't control it. Most of all she wants to believe Merlin can help her, that this time they really can be together.

But the ice that settles on the snow as she passes over it tells a different story, the cruelness of reality. Her cycle of loneliness must continue.

As she runs down the street, she wonders if she's failed her destiny, if she's failed to save Merlin.

**Merlin:**

Once Merlin finds Freya, he's unwilling to let her out of his sight again. So he is very reluctant as he follows Lancelot inside and down the hall a ways. Freya needs his help.

"What's wrong?" Merlin asks him, still unable to stop his curiosity.

"This cold," Lancelot says, "Do you know what's causing it? It's sorcery isn't it?"

Lancelot is one of two people in Camelot, now three including Freya, who know about Merlin's magic. "No," Merlin says, even though he's pretty sure he has a good feeling who it is. He's glad, though, that Lancelot does not ask something harder to answer. He gives him a relieved smile. "I'll let you know if I find out. Is that all?"

The knight shakes his head and lowers his voice. "There's a sorcerer in the castle," he whispers.

Merlin rolls his eyes. "Well, _obviously,_ but I prefer warlock." He says with a joking smile, but quickly regrets it when Lancelot's expression remains stern.

"Someone's been frozen, Merlin," he says, "Someone stole some food from the kitchens and froze one of the servants." His voice is barely audible now. "They look like an ice statue."

Merlin is silent for a moment, shocked. He had been sure it was part of Freya's curse, this cold, but freezing a person? She would never do that. But he needs to ask her.

Merlin purses his lips. "Thanks for telling me Lancelot. I'll look into it."

Lancelot still looks troubled and normally Merlin would keep talking but he really needs to get back to Freya so with a quick goodbye he walks back to the door.

Freya's gone.

Merlin stands still for a moment, realizing how unsurprised he is. He notices a trail of ice, a thin layer covering the snow, defining a set of small footprints. Then he's running down the street, following the trail.

He's getting really tired of Freya leaving him. The first time, back when he had hidden Freya, she had left him to try to get out of Camelot alone, not wanting to endanger him. Then she'd left him in death, where he couldn't go after her. And yet, she came back to him.

And now, surprise, she's left again.

And this time, Merlin is determined to follow.


	7. The Witch Hunt

**A/N: Hello guys! I am SO sorry for taking so long to update. Life got in the way again, as usual, but now exams are done and I plan to update more regularly. Let's get this story finished already! :D**

**Thanks to everyone who reviewed, it means a lot. :)**

**Disclaimer: Don't own Merlin. Never have. Never will.(unfortunately)**

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_"Life goes on, it gets so heavy,  
the wheel breaks the butterfly...  
In the night, the stormy night,  
away she'd fly..." -Coldplay's 'Paradise_

**Freya:**

She measures the distance in thoughts of Merlin. _Seventy-eight thoughts of Merlin from Camelot ... seventy-nine thoughts of Merlin from Camelot... eighty thoughts of Merlin from Camelot..._

And still she plods on, her heart aching with each footfall. It's snowing now, it has been for hours. At least, it feels like hours since she left Camelot.

She's tried to stop the snowfall, squinting at the icy blanket in concentration and trying to will it away, but it twinkles back at her, motionless. Her footprints grow deeper with every step as the snow she wades through gets higher. But she won't turn back. She can't. This is what she should have done three years ago – had tried to do, to be honest – and it's for the best. She is dangerous. She doesn't deserve Merlin's help, and the people of Camelot certainly don't deserve her curse.

Where she's going, she couldn't tell you. Except that it's anywhere but Camelot. She thinks that maybe it would be nice to go south, where it's sunny and the snow never sticks, but it's a foolish dream. The ice is a part of her now, and people will hate her for it. Maybe she'll go north then. Where no one can hurt her, and she can hurt no one. Everybody wins.

Except Freya. Except Merlin.

_Enough. _Freya wills her self-pitying thoughts away. Beggars can't be choosers; she'll go wherever they'll take her. A sudden thought strikes her – maybe the druids can help. They were, of course, completely not helpful the last time she went to them, but maybe now that her curse has changed they can find some way to change her, to fix her.

She sees her new curse as a blemish, unwanted and unattractive. Oh how she wishes she could just cover it up and pretend it's not there. But playing pretend is hard when you are stumbling almost waist-deep through snow.

Freya stops for a moment, leaning against a tree. She looks around, uncertainty staring back at her from each of the identical paths of the forest. Why does each direction have to look so similar? The sky is clouded over, covering the sun, so her sense of direction is completely internalized. She ends up choosing a route at random, picking the path of least resistance, or in this case the least amount of snow.

The further away Freya gets from Camelot, the calmer she feels. The weather reflects her mood as the snowflakes fall gently around her, lazy and slow enough that she can see each individual flake. She even tries to count them but gives up quickly. Her steps are lighter now too. It's almost as though the farther she gets from Camelot – from _Merlin – _the farther her emotions seems to separate from her. She has left her hurt and fears behind. For once, she doesn't have to worry about hurting anyone else, and she allows her heart to soar.

It's been hours now she thinks and she's far from Camelot. The woods still surround her, making her dizzy with their identical ice-covered branches, but it no longer seems so urgent that she get away. Why does she need to go so far, anyway? So long as she's happy, everything should be fine. She sinks to the ground, burrowing into the snow drifts to lie on her back, looking up at the clouded sky.

No birds chirp, no sun shines. There are no street venders rattling off lengthy lists of their wares, or servants shouting apologies as elbows jostle in their hurry. No, this is where Freya belongs, alone in a cold and empty forest, under a grey sky. Isolated. But free.

She lets her eyes drift shut, having seen all their is to see really. And yet, the image is imprinted on her mind's eye.

This could be paradise, these high white snowdrifts, like Merlin's cheekbones -

Wait. What?

Freya sits up quickly as her breath comes in a sharp gasp. She gets up slowly, her mind rattled. How could she be so foolish, to think that anywhere could be even remotely enjoyable without Merlin?

_I'll see you in paradise, Freya._ He'd said. Yes, he would, but it would only be paradise because he is there.

And yet, there is no way Freya can return to Camelot. If Merlin has taught her anything it is selflessness, and she won't risk anyone's safety for her happiness. So she finds her feet carrying her onward, further from Camelot, widening the separation.

Freya feels her hope fizzle with every step.

"Hello."

The voice comes out of nowhere really, or at least it seems so to Freya. She freezes in her tracks (yeah, that's right, she _freezes) _and casts a sweeping glance around the empty landscape. Not so empty anymore. Turning around, Freya comes face to face with a lady in a black dress.

A girl, really. She has long black hair the colour of Merlin's but it's wild and unkempt, giving her a close to crazy look. Her skin is shockingly pale in contrast. Freya takes an unconscious step back, away from the frightful look this girl is giving her. How did she get so close without Freya noticing?

The girl smiles in a distinctly not nice way. "Oh, don't be afraid. I'm not going to hurt you."  
"Who are you?" Freya asks, because nothing else really comes to mind.

"Why I'm your friend!" says the girl, sounding shocked that Freya seems not to know this already. "My name is Morgana." She steps closer, and it takes all of Freya's willpower to resist the urge to back up. "It seems we share a common enemy."

"I – we – what?" Freya says stupidly, inwardly cursing herself for her failure to grasp the situation. Her mind spins as she squeezes her memory for any information on this lady Morgana. Other than having heard the name before, she is drawing a blank for the context.

The girl smiles, an endangering smile that makes Freya feel unsafe. The girl leans in close and her words are quiet but powerful. "You're wearing my dress."

Freya frowns, glancing down. She remembers now, that day. Merlin had handed her the garment, saying something about how the king's ward didn't need it. Ah. Freya understands.

Or at least, she thinks she understands. But it doesn't add up. No member of the royal court would ever wander aimlessly through the woods, and judging by the wild state of Morgana's hair, she's been out here for a while. The king lives in a castle, therefore, Freya reasons, a king's ward lives in a castle. From what Freya can see, Morgana does not live in a castle.

This girl, Morgana, is smiling still, but it's more of a wolf's smile, all sharp and humourless. She walks close to Freya, so close now that in a few more paces they'll be touching. Freya is uneasy, but she forces herself to stay still. Wary, but unmoving. There is something about this girl that is genuine, somewhere underneath her thick layer of wilderness.

"It's magic," Freya blurts out suddenly, and Morgana calmly raises an eyebrow. Her words continue to tumble out as she rushes into an explanation. It's you, your magic – I can feel it."

Indeed, Freya does feel it. She can sense its soft glow, the only warmth she knows as the rest of the world seems to have turned to ice. But this magic calls out to her like an old friend, a cheerful memory of a summer campfire.

Morgana's smile twists slightly but remains, though her eyes widen a bit. "Ah, and you have it as well, I presume?" She talks properly, the kind of dialect Freya's mind associates with dreams of castles and courts. Morgana could be a princess straight out of a fantasy, Freya thinks.

Maybe Morgana being a king's ward isn't so ridiculous after all.

"I – no, I mean yes, but...," Freya stumbles over her answer, finally concluding with surprise that she genuinely doesn't know. Before her curse, she'd never really had magic. Did being cursed count? Well... "It's a curse."

Immediately the queer smile slips from Morgana's face. "Magic," she hisses, fists clenched, "is not a curse. It's a gift, some just don't recognize its... potential." She glares at the trees of the forest somewhere behind Freya, but more specifically, at a memory. At least, that is what Freya thinks.

Freya is startled and a little scared for a moment. "Well of course not!" She is thinking of Merlin now, with his warm and golden magic, similar to this girl's, but friendlier. Softer. "I really have no magical talent. At least, not naturally. I was cursed by a... sorcerer." She can't very well talk about the voice, really. And she _was_ cursed by a sorcerer, once upon a time.

The lady Morgana regards her with interest. "What kind of curse? I can sense it... sense its _power..." _There is a glazed look to Morgana's eyes, that when combined with her words makes Freya shiver.

"I don't know," Freya answers, and it's a half truth. She doesn't fully understand how her new curse works, but Morgana certainly doesn't need to know everything. There's something off about her that Freya doesn't trust, and it's not just her controversial title of Lady Morgana clashing with her wild appearance. It's in the way she looks at Freya, like Freya is... less than human to her. Something to be exploited. A tool maybe.

Or maybe a weapon.

"Liar," Morgana suddenly hisses, and Freya flinches back. "I am a high priestess of the old religion. I know a powerful curse when I see one. And I _know_ a magical storm when I'm in one." Her eyes glint with knowing at Freya's shocked expression. "Yes, I know you're causing it. And I don't know why. But," Morgana steps closer, "I want to know _how."_

Freya takes an urgent step back, and then another. And another. Suddenly she finds herself running away, away from the witch. Years ago, during the Great Purge, she's been told they hunted witches. A witch hunt, apparently, was chasing a witch. Freya's role is quite reversed, the witch hunting the girl.

She doesn't get far. Twenty paces, maybe thirty paces pass before an unseen force slams into her back and she is propelled forward and sails five feet through the air, landing on her front in the snow with a thud.

She struggles to her knees, dark spots dancing invitingly in the corners of her eyes, urging her to succumb to the black of unconsciousness. But Freya forces herself to turn and face Morgana.

The lady is farther away than Freya thought. It looks like Morgana has hardly moved from the clearing where they'd met. And yet, Freya can clearly see the distinct expression of triumph on the witch's face as she stalks towards the fallen girl.

"Your curse may be powerful, little girl, but you are not," Morgana is smiling. "A curse is a curse. You can't fight it," She nods to the woods and suddenly Freya is surrounded by a group of men, ten maybe. They are dressed in ragtag uniforms, unmatching, but all carry notable weapons. Morgana's men, Freya notes, as they all defer to the witch lady.

"I want her taken to my castle," Morgana commands, "alive."

Abruptly the men move forward as one, closing in on Freya, and she holds up her hands in automatic defence. As she swings her arms up, her palms seem to glow as the cold energy that has been flowing through her veins since she woke up shoots out of her hands in a wide arc. The men leap back, scrambling out of the way as frozen spikes form in a protective ring around Freya.

Freya is just as shocked as the bandits. She gasps, clutching her hands to her chest as she stares at the spikes in wonder. She did this. She did this. He doesn't even know _how, _but if Morgana says she can't fight the curse, it seems she might as well join it.

A second later there is a soft whizzing sound as something flies through the air and Freya feels a sharp prick on her shoulder. She looks down to see a dart sticking out of her arm. Quickly, she moves to pull it out but already her arms feel heavy and sluggish. Fast-acting dart, she thinks. Her arms drop to her sides and slowly she sinks to the ground. Is this it? Is she dying? Did she really come back from the dead, make it to Camelot, and leave Merlin again... only to die?

She is seriously rethinking the validity of her reasons for leaving Merlin. _Please don't be poison darts, _Freya prays. _I'll find Merlin again. I promise._

The dark spots are closing in now, their invitation not to be denied. In her last moments of consciousness, Freya hears Morgana laughing, somewhere above her. Is it cold there too? Everything seems cold, but she can't see anymore. She hears heavy footfalls, muffled by unseen snow.

"I think she'll be helpful," a voice says in the dark. "A curse like hers, just think of what it will do when _controlled._ Dear Arthur won't know what hit him."

And then the darkness eats all the sounds too, and suddenly there is nothing but Freya and the cold.

Then it's just nothing.


End file.
